


First Words

by Mandibles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:12:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandibles/pseuds/Mandibles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles loves coming home to his two favorite people in the world. Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/572674">Baby Steps</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Words

There’s something about the way Mabel lights up at the sight of him with those big, brown eyes of hers that makes Stiles freeze in the doorway and his breath hitch. It might be the way she flails in her high chair and slaps at the tray, sending Cheerios flying to the floor. Or maybe it’s the so, so warm smile that rolls onto Jackson’s face when he says, “Welcome back.” Maybe it’s just having them both like this, both bed-rumpled and morning-soft and just so happy to see him that’s twisting his guts.

God, Stiles can’t think of anything better to come home to.

“Heyyy,” he drawls, dropping his back and stepping forward to hook his fingers into Jackson’s pajama pants and drag him in for a kiss or twenty. Jackson wraps his arms around Stiles’ neck with a chuckle and meets him halfway for every single kiss. Stiles murmurs, “I missed you,” and Jackson sighs, “I missed you, too,” right back, no hesitation. Who knows when they got so . . . so domestic, but it’s perfect, everything they have is just so, so, _so_ —

They both jump at the clatter and splash of Mabel’s cup of milk tumbling from her high chair to spill across the floor. Which, if Mabel’s little grin and outstretched arms are anything to go by, was entirely intentional, the little she-devil. She really does take after Stiles, huh?

“Uh-oh, Mabel,” Stiles singsongs as he swoops to shower her in kisses. “Someone’s in trouble.”

“Uh-ohhh.”

“That’s right, uh-oh,” Jackson hisses, already reaching for a towel. Then, he stops. They both stop.

“Stiles—”

“Did she just—”

“ _Stiles_ —”

“Oh my god.”

“Uh-oh!” Mabel blurts again through her baby chortles, beating her hands on the tray and sending Cheerios flying, pinging off the counters and adding to the mess on the floor. “Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh!”

The sound Jackson makes isn’t human and while Stiles would normally file that as some sort of blackmail, he doubts he can manage English either. But, wonder of wonders, their little girl can! Sort of. Maybe?

“Do you—” Stiles says under Mabel’s gleeful screams, nudging his husband, “Do you think that counts as a first word?”

It takes Jackson a second to regain control of his dropped jaw. “I—I don’t know? Probably not. It was just a sound.”

“Uh-oh! Uh-oh, uh-oh! Uh-oh!”

“ _No_ is just a sound, too, you know, and people count that as a first word.”

“Should we count it?”

“Hell yeah, we should!”

Jackson makes that sound again, strangled and almost a whine, before he whispers, “Oh my god,” and has Mabel out of the highchair and into his arms in two seconds flat. He bounces her lightly, presses a wet kiss to her forehead. “Oh my god, Stiles. Oh my god, she—we—”

Stiles breaks into a grin. It’s so strange to think that the guy swinging their giggling one-year-old around barefoot through a mess of milk and cereal is rich boy Jackson Whittemore, the guy who tormented him through most of his childhood, who returned to Beacon Hills after three years tired and worn, who howled with laughter when Stiles got down on one knee and proposed in the middle of some Italian family restaurant. This is the person who, just a few months ago, couldn’t even bring himself to hold Mabel the first week she came home.

Mabel bats at Jackson’s lips with her little hand and Jackson playfully nips at her pudgy fingers.

That Jackson and this Jackson aren’t even the same people. It’s mind blowing.

“Why am I not surprised that she waited until you got home,” Jackson says, a little breathless. There’s an undercurrent of insecurity there that, no matter how many years pass, Jackson just can’t seem to shake off.

And, Stiles smiles, sighs. “She wanted to wait until the family was altogether.”

Jackson pauses, looks a little lost for a single, split second until Stiles kisses the look off of him. And he kisses and kisses and kisses and kisses and kisses and kisses.

Mabel watches them quietly, her fingers stuck in her mouth.

“Uh-oh.”


End file.
